The Way I Loved You
by littlestephhy
Summary: Jo died. He watched as the Hellhounds mauled her; forced back tears as the hardware store blew up before his eyes. Dean Winchester is not coping very well with Jo Harvelle's death. How is he expected to cope when he sees her again?
1. Whiskey Pictures

Dean Winchester could be described in many ways.

Men considered him a threat. The way he swaggered around, confidence oozing from every pore despite the undying hatred he felt for himself on the inside. Most thought he was arrogant or cocky. They were right, of course, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was the attention given to him by the _opposite_ sex.

Women considered him to be ruggedly handsome. With the face of a heartbreaker, many considered him to be a common player and yet, they kept coming. Women of all kinds would throw themselves at his feet, vying for his attention. All except one.

Jo.

Her death had been a real kick in the teeth. It had been little under a month and Dean still couldn't shake the image of those bright, whiskey coloured eyes from his mind. Her death played on a constant loop during the few hours he actually managed to get some sleep. Even when awake, the Winchester was plagued by constant reminders that the one woman he had ever come close to loving was now dead. The biggest reminder of all was, of course, her shotgun. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. How could he? It was all that was left of her.

Yes, Dean Winchester had come very close to loving someone outwith his immediate family. What had started out as mild flirting had quickly escalated into something that not only surprised the eldest Winchester but also scared him. As a man who preferred to avoid emotional vulnerability, love was something reserved for people such as his brother and his father; no one else. But Jo? Well, she just seemed to fit.

The Winchester bowed his head and let out an audible sigh. In his right hand, he held a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels. In his right hand, a picture of Jo. He was unsure as to where he had found the picture -most likely drunk at the time- but he knew the second he spotted it that he had to have it. He needed something other than his restless mind to remind him of her. He knew that over time, the image of those honey coloured curls would darken; the sound of her turning him down after years of crushing on him would fade. He needed something that would keep him from forgetting.

Raising the whiskey bottle to his lips, Dean took a long swig. The bitter alcohol left a burning sensation in his throat that he found strangely comforting. _How fitting,_ he thought, rolling his eyes, _A Winchester seeking solace at the bottom of a bottle._

Pale green eyes dropped to the photograph in his hand once again. Tears began to pool but Dean couldn't bring himself to care. Instead, he set down the whiskey bottle and drew his hand across his face. Vision blurry from all the alcohol, he did his best to focus on the black and white snap of one, Jo Harvelle. Before he could help himself, he was speaking.

"God, Jo." He slurred, feeling a sense of helpessness begin to sink in.

"You have no idea what this is like; knowing it's your fault. Well, not your fault because it's my fault but if you're listening to me, you'll understand what I'm trying to say." Dean spoke, giving a short, humorless laugh. It was obvious he was hurting inside.

"I wish you were listening, Jo. There's so much I should've told you and by the time I even realized what I wanted to say, it was too late. God, if you could see me now; you'd probably punch me again." The Winchester smirked, finally feeling something other than sorrow or hatred for the first time in weeks. Then again, Jo had always been very good at that kind of thing; bringing out the side of him that enjoyed life just that little bit more. The side that gave him just a little more hope. He gave a soft, genuine laugh.

Then he felt it. Clad in his usual denim jeans, t-shirt and flannel overshirt, the dropping in temperature did not escape Dean. Letting out a long breath, the Winchester felt himself sober up slightly as he watched his misty breath confirm his suspicions. Despite his emotional vulnerability in that moment, his hunter instincts kicked in immediately. Jumping to his feet, Dean grabbed Jo's shotgun, it being the closest weapon. Cocking the gun, the Winchester raised both his eyes and the weapon at the same time. The shot was never fired, however. Just as Dean found himself speechless.

Watery green eyes trailed the figure before them. Silvery blonde curls hung down past shoulders hidden away by a grey t-shirt and a green jacket. Surprisingly pink lips stood out against a frighteningly pale yet unblemished complexion. None of this mattered. Of the whole image before him, only one thing stood out. Whiskey coloured eyes.

"Jo."


	2. Shotgun Punch

Jo Harvelle had been described in many ways.

Women tended to find her rather tomboyish. Lacking manicured nails and red stilettoes, many believed Jo to simply be 'one of the guys'. Yet, most women still grew angry when their husband's eyes found themselves focusing on the young Harvelle's backside.

This had been a common occurance for her. Multiple times, Jo had found herself swinging her fist into a drunkard's jaw after he had made a grab for her. Almost every male who had ever set foot in The Roadhouse had tried it. All except one.

Dean.

Jo could vividly remember the first time they had met. Being a hunter, he really should have known better than to wander into a deserted looking bar unarmed. Still, she had been armed enough for the both of them. With a shotgun in the back and punch between the eyes -both aimed at him- she had fallen for him immediately. How could she not fall for a man so handsome and protective as Dean Winchester? This didn't stop him checking her out however. Not that she had ever told him she'd noticed.

Yes, it had been an instantaneous crush. Although despite their flirting, Dean had never tried to make a move on her. She didn't question his choices, rather choosing to believe that he was trying to keep her out of harm's way. And how did she repay him? By trailing on down to Philadelphia and getting herself captured by the ghost of H. H. Holmes. She would _never_ forget the sound of his guilty yet desperate voice as he called out for her. She could still _feel_ the tremors travelling through her body when she thought of the way he had pulled her out of that tiny little box, ignoring everything else in the room. Even though it had been three years since that day, the memories did not fade.

Blinking multiple times, whiskey brown eyes scanned the room. The curtains were drawn, meaning the normally -yet acceptably- dull room was almost murky. Jo blamed the red walls and old leather-back books. Ironically, they made the room feel welcoming and she presumed that was a problem. Upon entering the room, even the happiest of people would begin to feel oddly depressed and wish to stay.

Dean had however, already been terribly depressed. Her death seemed to have affected him the most. It had been little under a month yet his drinking had increased so much so that he could now drink three or four bottles of whiskey in a day. What with spending most of his time drunk, Dean had little time for communicating with his _own brother_, let alone hunting.

Jo let out a frustrated sigh and ran her hands through her hair. She was dead; yes, dead! In over three weeks, Dean Winchester hadn't said her name. He didn't make any reference to the fight that had gone down in Carthage and spent most of his time staring at the bottom of a bottle.

"God, if you could see me now; you'd probably punch me again." She heard him speak. His voice was broken and thick with unshed tears. _Damn right I'd punch you!_ she thought to herself, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. _You deserve it._

Before her thoughts could continue, Jo found herself smiling softly. For the first time in three weeks, an emotion other than pain or guilt entered the Winchester's eyes. However, her smile faded quickly.

She was dead. Not only had she been mauled by Hellhounds, she had then forced her motherto blow up the hardware store that had housed their broken bodies. The last thing Jo had felt, was the soft touch of a man's lips on hers. A man with wide, watering green eyes; blood on his hands but a reassuring smile on his face. Dean refused to let her feel sad even though they both knew she was going to die. And where was she now? Standing in Bobby's back room, watching the man she had longed for, for three good years: a ghost.

"God, Dean; if _you_ could only see _me_ now." she whispered, knowing that if he were ever to realize that she were a ghost, he would become inconsolable with the knowledge he would have to kill her. For good.

Unable to control herself as her emotions began to take over, Jo's body shook with sadness. This action appeared to catch the attention of the Winchester. The Harvelle girl watched as his body stiffened. Letting out a breath, mist clouded his face while goosebumps raised on his arms. Despite being immune to temperature, Jo knew the room had gone cold.

In less than five seconds, Dean Winchester was on his feet, shotgun cocked and aimed her chest, eyes on her face. And he froze. Dropping her arms by her sides, Jo imitated his frozen stance, a shocked expression of her own on her face.

She could see the changes in him. His eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark rings. He was somewhat unshaven and his body was visibly shaking. He was drunk. And yet, she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. Nor could she leave him; not now she knew the state he had gotten himself into.

"Jo." he spoke, genuine surprise filling his tone as he stared her, seemingly unable to move. Sucking in a deep breath, the blonde smiled.

"Dean."


	3. Bloodshot Aftermath

_She's gone. Dead. Because of me. It's my fault._

The words swam through his mind. Although he had never spoken them aloud, he remembered them clearly. He had been so certain that one day, those words would be voiced. He had hoped that on that day, he would be able to let go of his grief and accept that he had lost the one woman he had ever let himself truly love.

It was evident now that, that day would never come.

Silence hung in the air between them, bruised and tender. Neither quite sure of what should be said; of what needed to be said. Dean stared insistently into Jo's brown eyes while Jo drank in the sight of a drunk and unstable Dean.

Finally, although mechanically, Dean shifted.

He lowered his arms slowly, letting the shotgun fall away from it's current target: Jo's chest. Whiskey tinted eyes followed the movement while whiskey tinged eyes blinked repeatedly. Both waited patiently until the weapon was laid to rest atop the small, wooden bed -who's only purpose was to serve unexpected guests- before moving.

Jo moved first.

Stepping forward slowly so as not to startle the inebriated hunter, the blonde ghost swallowed hard, trying to focus on just one sentence. Dean imitated her movements almost immediately, bowing his head in embarrassment.

Dean spoke first.

"Jesus Jo, you couldn't have picked a better time?" He asked, raising his eyes to hers. The lighthearted quip immediately broke the tension and Jo laughed amusedly.

"Yeah, because you'd handle this so much better if you were sober." She teased him, causing him to imitate her previous chuckle.

Silence fell between the pair once again as they took to an intense staring competition; neither daring to break away first. Neither wanting to.

Jo suddenly felt somewhat stupid. She should have known that she would reveal her ghostly-self to Dean eventually, even if it _was_ accidental. She should have been more prepared! Then again, how could anyone prepare for a moment like this? No one in the world would ever know what to say should they find themselves in her situation. But she had to say something.

"I'm sorry." Dean spoke, beating her to it yet again. Jo looked up, not realizing she had dropped her gaze. She assumed that had been what provoked this sudden confession.

Guilt and pain glazed over his bloodshot and distant eyes and Jo could not help the immense wave of sadness that washed over her. It was her fault that he was in this state. Had she not died, things would have gone on as normal. They would have said their goodbyes after Carthage and he would promise to call. Of course, he wouldn't keep that promise and she would know that but her heart would still beat faster every time the phone rang and she would always take interest when he was mentioned. And they would play that game until they were to meet again because at the end, they would always go back to the beginning. That was their relationship. Only now were they realizing it had not been enough.

"It's not your fault." Jo whispered. Their eyes met, whiskey brown on moss green. In his eyes, Jo could see the hurt and the fear that bubbled away beneath the surface. In her eyes, Dean could see the ache and the want that she didn't try to hide.

"Yeah." He spoke, the word sounding almost like a laugh. "It is." He added, shaking his head at himself before dropping his eyes to the floor beneath them.

Jo moved forward but Dean remained still. Coming to stand mere inches from the broken Winchester, she was aware that he was forcing himself to stand straight. Reaching up, the blonde placed an icy hand against his cheek, feeling warmth spread throughout her chest as his eyes closed contentedly and he leaned into her touch.

"It is not your fault." Jo spoke firmly. "When I died, it was _my_ choice. I did _not_ blame you. I _do not_ blame you now. I will _never_ blame you for my death." The blonde confirmed, bending her knees to meet Dean's now-open eyes.

As she returned to her full height, his eyes remained on hers. She could tell by his facial expression that he still found himself to be guilty but knew that he would no longer argue the issue with her.

"Okay." He breathed, voice rough like sandpaper against skin. And yet, he gave her chills.

Jo knew she was no normal ghost. She still held onto her humanity with both hands. Most ghosts only ever felt anger or pain. Jo felt so much more than that and in that moment, she felt love. She felt love for the broken man before her. She felt love for the man who sat angrily in a wheelchair just a floor below them. She felt love for the worried brother who sat researching quietly just a few rooms away. Most of all, she felt _loved_ by all of these men who still mourned her death.

For a few moments, both Dean and Jo remained still, her fingertips resting lightly against his jawline. Neither moved, both forgetting how to make their muscles work.

"Jo." Dean whispered finally, eyes darting between hers desperately.

"Dean." Jo whispered in response, feeling herself grow breathless.

A million words whirled around Dean's mind. Various words strung together; some making sentences, others making questions. Not that it mattered. He couldn't repeat any of the words on his mind. But he had to say something now.

"How did you get here?"

Jo sighed. There were so many things he could have said in that moment; so many questions he could have asked. Of all the possibilities, his voiced question was not the option she had expected. Still, she understood the question. Had the situation been reversed, she would have been just as curious.

"I mean, I watched you die. Those 'hounds tore you apart. I can still feel your blood on my hands, Jo! And in that stupid store, it was your idea to blow the place up. _I_ stood outside and _I_ watched it explode with you and your mother inside. There shouldn't be anything left, you should be gone, you should _both_ be gone." A pause. "How are you still here?"

Dean was rambling. He was getting himself worked up and he was rambling. But when the words started, he just couldn't make them stop. In that moment, Dean couldn't recall a time Jo had witnessed him in such a manner. He noticed then that throughout his entire rant, she had not moved. Her body was perfectly still and her eyes were still locked on his somewhat sympathetically yet sadly. Most importantly, her icy fingertips remained perfectly in place against his skin. He found it strange that he could find such comfort in a dead girl. Then again, he loved her; even if she didn't know it.

"I don't know, Dean." The blonde finally spoke, an apologetic smile coming across her lips. "I know that I shouldn't be here. I know that when the store exploded, I should have exploded too. I should be nothing but splattered blood on rubble but here I am." She answered honestly, right shoulder lifting slightly in a shrug, causing her fingers to slide across his stubbled cheek.

"Here you are." Dean repeated, resisting the urge to cup her hand and keep it against his skin. His voice was distant and Jo assumed he was contemplating the sincerity of her answer. However, Dean was more interested in the soft, unshed tears that rimmed her eyes. Jo seemed unaware of their sudden appearance but he had noticed. As far as his memory served, ghosts couldn't cry. Could they?

"You're crying." He spoke solemnly, gentle green eyes studying her face. Jo wiped at her eyes immediately and did her best to look at him challengingly.

"No I'm not." she retorted, taking a step back from the Winchester. She wanted to tell him that she simply had dust in her eye. Considering the room they were currently standing in, it would have been a believable excuse. But she was a ghost and human excuses such as that no longer applied to her.

The ghost of a cocky smirk came across Dean's lips but he didn't challenge her lie. They both knew he was simply appreciating the appearance of the Jo he had once known. The Jo that had been alive and well no more than a month ago. For that, she silently thanked him. He nodded at her, a movement so slight she almost missed it. She knew however, that he was accepting her thanks.

"You know uh, maybe we should sit down." He suggested, glancing towards the small and unstable looking bed. "We've got a lot to talk about, you know?" He spoke softly, taking a slow step towards the bed. Jo nodded and followed his movement, both feeling slightly awkward.

Jo sat first.

Dean quickly imitated her actions and for a few moments, they both sat in silence, contemplating what needed to be said next.

Dean spoke first.

"So uh, I'll bet you got a whole bunch of questions." He spoke, giving a half-hearted laugh. Jo smiled softly and turned her body to face the Winchester.

"Not as many as you must have." She offered, watching as Dean turned to face her.

"Okay yeah, I guess." He admitted, bowing his head slightly.

"We could go question for question." Jo suggested. Dean looked up and nodded his head, realizing that this offer was probably the best idea.

"Okay, I'll ask first?" he asked. Jo smiled.

"Shoot."

"Okay, I guess you've answered my first question so," Dean spoke, drawing out the last word until coming to a complete halt. She knew he was thinking. There were so many questions she would want to ask were she in his position that she too would find it difficult to know where to start. Finally, Dean spoke up.

"How long have you been here?"

"What like, how long have I been a ghost?"

"Yeah."

"I'm pretty sure I became a ghost when I died." Jo spoke humorously but Dean only eyed her sternly. Surprisingly, Dean viewed this as a serious subject.

"I'm serious," Jo spoke, giving a slight shrug in response to the Winchester's quizzical yet demanding look. "All I know is that one minute, you're placing a detonator in my hand and the next, I'm standing beside you: watching my mother blow up not only my body, but herself. That's all I remember." The blonde admitted, eyes falling away from Dean's sympathetic expression. She didn't need his sympathy; didn't want it. Why should he feel sorry for her? Why should she feel sorry for herself? It was her idea! It had always been her idea and she couldn't change that. Neither could he. What happened, happened. That was the end.

"I'm sorry for bringing it up." Dean spoke softly.

Jo looked up then. His eyes raised to look at her from beneath thick, dark lashes. In that moment, his eyes had never looked so green. His expression had never been so sincere. Her heart melted and Jo was suddenly thankful she was dead for had she been alive, that look would have killed her.

"It's okay." She smiled at him, tone soft and accepting. He gave her a kind smile in return before nodding in her direction.

"Your turn." he reminded her politely.

Jo paused. What could she ask him? It was strange how in just a few seconds, a million different questions had fled from her mind. There had been so many things that she wanted to ask; answers she desperately sought. There were so many things she didn't know.

"The colt didn't work." Dean spoke, clearly seeing and understanding her struggle.

It was most likely that Jo would ask about the occurrence's taking place after her death. In his mind, telling her everything that had happened made sense. Jo too, was a hunter whether she was dead or alive. If the situation were reversed, he would want to know if there was a good reason for his death.

A sudden feeling of deflation overtook the Winchester. The colt didn't work. Jo had died for nothing! He couldn't protect her and she had died; for nothing! He had let her down. Bowing his head, Dean closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Little did he know it would be Jo's next words that sent him into a frenzy.

"I know." She spoke softly. His head snapped upwards, eyes open wide and a look of shock masking the bubbling anger that threatened to spill over. Jo could see that Dean was clearly not impressed with her admission and immediately jumped in to defend herself.

"I told you. After my death, I was standing next to you. When you moved, I blacked out and when I came round, you were holding a gun to Lucifer's head. You fired and he went down and for a moment, I thought we'd won. I thought that for once, in this big dangerous world that maybe, just _once_, the good guys had won." She ranted, feeling herself beginning to tense up. She knew she was automatically preparing for a fight with the Winchester. It was amazing that even when she was dead they couldn't go ten minutes without fighting.

"And then he got up." Dean finished her rant for her. Jo looked up, shocked by his strange lack of anger and annoyance. She nodded.

"And then he got up. I realized then that no matter what we did, we couldn't win. Not unless he wanted us to. I stopped watching you after that. Even when I had the chance to. I didn't."

Dean kinked a brow. Immediately, her heart dropped. She had said something then that she shouldn't have told him. Now came the fight.

"How long have you been with us?" He asked, his voice eerily calm. They both knew it was the calm before the storm.

"Since I died. Everywhere you go, I go." She admitted.

Dean exploded.

"**You've been with us this whole time?!**" The Winchester yelled. Suddenly, he was on his feet, pacing around the room. Jo hung her head in defeat and sighed in response. He knew she meant yes.

"If you've been with us this whole time, why am I only seeing you now? Why didn't you tell me you were a ghost? I could have helped you Jo! I could have helped you get through all the anger and the pain and I would've helped you to understand what this meant! You're a kid Jo, you're not invincible!" Dean ranted, not quite yelling but still raising his voice. Jo grew angrier with each word and before she could help herself, she was on her feet.

"And we all know just how true that is, don't we?" She spat back at him, referring to the last part of his rant. The venom in her tone shocked Jo, herself. Both she and Dean stood perfectly still. Both wore completely different expressions. Jo wore a look of shock and regret while Dean just looked hurt. No, it was more than that. There were no words Jo could find right then to explain the hurt and pain she saw in his eyes. She hated herself in that moment.

"Dean." She spoke, her voice kinder. She stepped towards him. He stepped away from her.

With his mouth slightly agape, body rigid and eyes filled with an emotion than made pain look like joy, Jo could quite honestly believe that her words had most certainly, physically wounded him.

"Dean, I didn't mean to say that. It just- it just came out!"

Another step forward. Another step back.

"Dean I didn't mean that. You know I don't blame you, it's not your fault! I don't know why I said it because I didn't mean it." The blonde tried to explain herself. When she stepped forward this time, he remained in place.

"Please, Dean?" She pleaded. His eyes softened and Jo felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that almost knocked her back. Dean gave a slight nod.

"We should uh, we should stop shouting. Bobby or- or Sam might hear us and I don't- I don't want them to know," A sigh. "About you. Not yet." He finished.

Jo nodded understandingly. Despite the remaining hurt in his eyes, she knew he was putting on a brave face. Regret filled her body and she mentally cursed herself for not keeping her mouth shut. Dean sidestepped her and moved back towards the bed. His feet made a slight shuffling sound on the old threadbare rug that covered only a square foot of a splintered wooden floor. Picking up the previously discarded whiskey bottle, Dean set himself down on the bed. This time, he kicked his legs up, crossing his ankles and leaning back against the headboard comfortably. It was an action Jo presumed he had perfected during his stay at Bobby's. She imagined he didn't spend much time outwith this room. She sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, avoiding Dean's penetrating gaze that seemed to bore into the side of her face. She heard him take a long swig from the whiskey bottle and silently wished she could imitate the action. A drink would do her some good.

"Your question." he spoke gruffly.

Jo hung her head. She no longer had the energy for this conversation. Dean was angry with her but even worse, he had been hurt by her. Causing Dean pain was something she had never intended to do. The mere thought of his unhappiness at her fault tore her apart inside but to actually witness his reaction to the vicious words that had escaped her mouth before she could control herself? That was something else entirely. Yet, she couldn't leave him. They both knew she wouldn't.

Dean was actually counting on it. Her words had stung him. A new laceration crossed his heart, deep and dangerous. Bleeding out from the inside, Dean felt himself spiral downwards. He had never imagined that he could feel so much pain at the hands of a scorned woman. Not by her words anyway. He was very, _very_ wrong. When a child was bullied in school, their parents would teach them a rhyme that Dean had taught to Sam. _Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me_. The Winchester repeated the rhyme mentally. Those words were nothing but a lie to him now for he had never faced a greater pain than listening to and accepting Jo's words. His eyes raised to look at her and he watched. Remaining silent, he watched her inner struggle. He knew what she wanted to ask. He knew, she knew she shouldn't. He knew she would.

"What happened next?" She finally voiced. Dean closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. Jo must have misread the action as she clarified her question.

"After I- you know; what happened?"

Again, Dean looked up at her. She wasn't look at him and even though he wanted to hate her for confirming his worst fears, (she said she hadn't meant her harsh outburst but deep down, they both knew he was at least partly to blame) he could not comprehend how a pale, faded version of a girl once so full of life could still be so impossibly beautiful. It was for that reason that he answered her.

"Sparing the details," He spoke, dropping his eyes as she raised hers. "We uh- we got ourselves into a mental hospital. Wraith posing as a doctor and uh, attacking patients and all." He briefly explained. Jo nodded her head innocently, a movement Dean caught from the corner of his eye.

"Then uh, 'bout two weeks ago, some nerdy kid got the jump on Sam; switched their bodies. Man, that was a little too 'Freaky Friday', not enough Lindsay Lohan for me." He continued, finally raising his eyes. Green met brown and for a few seconds, they simply stared at each other. The silence wasn't awkward but it certainly wasn't comfortable. Jo was aware that Dean was still hurt by her words and Dean was now aware -due to the look in her eyes- of how guilty Jo felt.

"That all?" The blonde asked quietly. Dean couldn't help but give a soft smirk. Even in the aftermath of an argument Jo was ultimately curious. She noticed his smirk and dealt him with a smile of her own.

"What?" She asked, resisting the urge to laugh. "It's just- well you're the Winchester brothers. Two cases in four weeks just isn't your style." She reminded him. He had to agree with her there.

"Sam's looking for a case right now." Dean admitted, giving the blonde a soft smile. "But y'know," He waved the Jack Daniels bottle in her direction. "Been a little preoccupied." He smirked, taking a sip.

Jo dropped her eyes and her smile. Preoccupied. What he really meant was that he'd been too busy getting drunk and trying to drown out the memories to do anything else. The sound of her ragged breathing; the feeling of blood between his fingers; the sound of the explosion. Their kiss. Jo couldn't quite imagine what that must have been like. While she had been witness to the immediate aftermath of her death, to actually witness such an event and know that you would have to go on must have devastated him. Dean may not have loved her in the way she wanted him to but he _had_ loved her.

"I can see that." She spoke, raising her eyes once again. Almost immediately, a look of surprise came across the Winchester's face. Without speaking, Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed, doubling over and scanning the floor. For a few moments, the only sound that filled the room was Dean's near silent muttering and the scuffling of fingernails hitting worn wood.

"Dean?" The blonde asked, a brow raised as she moved a little closer to him, trying to find what he was looking for. Before she got the chance, he was sitting straight once again.

"Here." He spoke, holding his hand out to her. In his palm sat a small, rectangular piece of paper. Although it appeared to be blank, there was a slight shimmering from underneath whenever the light caught the paper. Reaching out, Jo took the item from him and held it up.

It was a photograph. Splayed across the small picture, was a black and white candid shot of her. She clearly hadn't been paying attention when the photo was taken. A wide, toothy grin spread across her face. Despite the fact the image held no color, Jo knew her eyes were shining. She wore a Ramones t-shirt and had her head turned away from the camera. She remembered the moment well. She had been smiling at Dean.

"Where did you get this?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Dean shrugged and moved to sit next to her, looking down at the image.

"I can't remember." He admitted, looking up to study the blonde's face. The room was dark and yet Jo seemed to glow. She was beautiful.

"But you should have it." He continued. Jo looked up at him. They were now mere centimeters from each other and Jo could not contain her happiness.

Hurtling her arms around the Winchester's neck, Jo held him tightly. His arms snaked around her waist, holding her just as close. They remained like that for several minutes. Upon finally pulling back, Dean raised his right hand. Brushing a long, wavy strand of honey hair away from her face, his warm palm flattened against her icy cheek. Jo's breath caught in her throat and Dean smirked at the small gasp that occurred as a result of the involuntary action.

"**Dean!**" Sam yelled. Footsteps sounded on the barely carpeted hall floor while Dean and Jo jumped apart.

"Dean?" Sam asked, his voice much closer. A loud knock rattled the door and both sets of eyes followed the sound.

"Yeah?" the eldest Winchester answered, looking directly at Jo now. She appeared to be terrified. He could understand that. If he were a newly turned ghost, he too would be terrified at the thought of being revealed to a hunter. Especially one he wasn't particularly comfortable with. Although he knew Jo had forgiven Sam for the incident in Duluth and did ultimately love him like a brother, he knew she was still very wary around him. With good reason, he supposed.

"I think I found a case." Sam called through the door. This time, it was Jo who turned. Her eyes landed on Dean's. Her eyes were wide with fear as she silently pleaded with him not to invite Sam into the room. He nodded his head at her.

"I'll be down in two minutes." Dean called back. The sound of retreating footsteps did little to calm Jo. As soon as she was sure Sam was out of earshot, she spoke.

"You can't tell him-" She began but Dean cut her off.

"I won't." He spoke immediately. "I told you, I don't want him or Bobby to know anything yet. This will be our little secret." He reassured her, smiling.

Jo visibly relaxed at his words. Crossing the room to meet her, Dean cupped her slender face. Pressing a soft kiss against her forehead, he met her eyes.

"I'll be back soon. I promise." He smiled down at her. She nodded.

Jo watched as Dean made his way towards the door. Tugging it open, the wood scraped loudly against the floor, making Dean flinch. Clearly, he wasn't completely sober yet. And still, he tossed her a soft smile before he closed the door behind him. Jo listened to his retreating footsteps and smiled because she knew that this time, Dean meant what he said.


	4. Exhausted Acceptance

Dean came bounding down the creaky, old wooden stairs of the Singer home. Crossing through the living room and entering the kitchen, the eldest Winchester found his younger brother sitting patiently at a kitchen table too small to seat him. His laptop was open wide, the glow of the screen lighting up his tired green eyes. Sam looked both physically and mentally exhausted. Dean knew it was his fault. He had been drunk for two weeks straight and he was well aware that he hadn't been the best company in that time; that's if he was any company at all. Yet, despite the tired expression Sam desperately tried to cover up, Dean could not conceal the smile on his face.

"You look happy." Sam spoke, giving his brother a quizzical smile of his own. Dean's smile only widened, making Sam frown slightly.

Dean had aquired a new spring in his step. While he was still unshaven, with bloodshot eyes and dirty clothes, he looked happy. There was a smile on his face that Sam hadn't seen in a long time. If he were honest, it was a smile he hadn't seen his brother give anyone since his first meeting with Jo.

God; the thought of her killed him. Jo had been like a sister to him. Sam was aware that Dean had felt something more for the blonde hunter, even if Dean himself couldn't admit it. Losing Jo had killed Dean. At least, metaphorically. Since her death little more than a month ago, the elder Winchester had become distant. He couldn't concentrate on anything and spent most of his time getting drunk. Sam knew it was an attempt to numb the pain. He knew that Dean didn't expect him to understand. But he did. He had loved her too. Perhaps not in the way Dean had loved her, but Jo had been someone special to him too.

"No hangover this morning, Sammy." Dean spoke cheerily, clapping his hands together. Sam rolled his eyes. They both knew the lack of a hangover was not the reason for Dean's sudden change in attitude but Sam chose not to push the subject.

"Aren't you lucky." The younger Winchester mumbled, shaking his head and turning his eyes back to his laptop.

Dean sat opposite his brother at the kitchen table, kicking his feet up onto the chair beside him and making himself comfortable. He was almost certain this would be a long chat. It would start out with Sam explaining the case he had found and Dean would nod and agree when it was necessary. Sam would know his brother wasn't _really_ paying attention but wouldn't call him out. When he was finished discussing the case, Sam would ask him how he was and Dean would give his usual response: _Fine, Sammy. Just fine._ However, Sam would not accept this answer of course and this subject, he would push. Neither would actually mention Ellen or Jo; neither dared speak their names aloud. Dean, because it was too painful. Sam, because he didn't want to damage Dean's severely unbalanced mental health further. They would both know however, that Sam was really asking how Dean was now coping. That usually started an argument. That argument usually ended with something broken and a fresh bottle of whiskey in the elder Winchester's hand.

"So, what's up? What you got?" Dean asked, linking his fingers together over his stomach and feigning interest. Sam sighed and looked up at Dean with sympathy. His heart sank.

"You're not gonna like it." The younger Winchester admitted. Dean rolled his eyes and tried to act like his heart wasn't racing. Tried to pretend that he could still feel his body by tapping his thumbs together. Tried to conceal the fact his mouth had gone dry by speaking.

"What is it, Sammy?" He asked, almost certain he didn't want to hear the answer.

"A ghost." Sam spoke.

Dean tensed. There was no way Sam could know; Jo had only appeared no more than ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago! Sure, they had been shouting at each other but Sam had been downstairs! _Funny,_ Dean's mind interrupted his panic. _I thought Sam was in his room upstairs._ Shaking his head to dispel the intrusive and slightly distracting thought, Dean brought his feet down from the chair they rested upon and leaned across the table, his eyes focused on the back of Sam's laptop.

"Where?" He asked, voice gruff as he attempted to control his suddenly hypersensitive body.

"Carthage." Sam answered.

Dean froze. Carthage? He couldn't go to Carthage; it was too soon. A month had barely passed and Sam was expecting him to go back? To return to the town in which _she_ had died? Dean found it strange that the woman currently invading his thoughts remained upstairs, waiting quietly for his return when in his own mind, he could not bring himself to think her name. It was still too painful.

A sudden flash of orange attacked his mind as he was reminded of an explosion he drank to forget. She was supposed to be dead. Her words invaded his mind. _Splattered blood on rubble._ Her voice taunted him. And yet, just a floor above him, in a room hidden away at the back of a dusty, cluttered old house, waited the ghost of the pretty, young blonde hunter he had fallen in love with. The one woman he had _truly_ let into his heart -whether he wanted her there or not- had now become the thing he was supposed to kill. Irony was a bitch.

"No." Dean spoke quietly. His voice was stripped of emotion, barren like a winter tree. Sam was not surprised.

He was aware that Dean had not been dealing with Jo's death. In fact, Dean was spiralling. Sam had said nothing, choosing to believe that over time, Dean would pull himself out of this rut and they would get back on the road. In just under a month, they had completed only two cases. Dean still wasn't ready and Sam was trying not to push him. After losing Jess, he was aware that he, himself had spiraled. He had become somewhat dark and obsessed with killing the demon that took her away from him, so much so that he had almost gotten not only himself, but his also his brother killed along the way. To lose someone you love, someone you truly love, leaves a hole deep in your heart that you don't think could ever be filled. Yes, Sam understood how Dean felt. That did not mean Dean was willing to let him help.

"It's been a month, Dean." Sam spoke quietly, almost shyly. He didn't want to start yet another argument. It was a well known fact that Dean had a temper but when he was drunk, he became just plain scary.

"I said no!" Dean snapped. His eyes flicked up to meet Sam's, razor sharp and filled with anger. Sam knew when to pick his battles with Dean and this was not a war he was willing to engage in. But his mouth kept moving.

"Come on, Dean; it's been a month! We've been sitting here, in Bobby's, for a month. I've been trying to help you, finding cases that'll take your mind off of-" He trailed off, sighing. "I'm trying to help, Dean." He spoke, meeting his brother's eyes, trying desperately to reason with him.

"I'm fine, Sam!" Dean hissed. "I don't _need_ your help!"

"Yeah, you do." Sam retaliated.

"I'm not going back there Sam. I can't. It hasn't even been a month and you expect me to just wander back in there like nothing happened?" Dean asked. Sam could see his anger building. There was an explosion coming.

"It's been twenty-six years dude and I still can't stand within a hundred yards of mom's grave! You _know_ that, it was you who called me out on it. And in less than a _month_ you want me to go back _there_? To go back to where-" Dean shot to his feet. His hands slammed hard on the table as he leaned across it, almost invading Sam's personal space.

"I know Dean- " Sam attempted to speak but Dean wasn't listening.

"She _died_ there, Sam." The elder Winchester ranted, eyes narrowing into slits. "**You expect me to go back there and act like I didn't watch the one girl I ever stood any chance of giving a damn about die?!**" He yelled.

A heavy silence settled between the two. The tension was thick, almost choking Sam. Both brothers simply stared at each other; Dean realizing that he had just admitted his feelings for Jo and Sam feeling guilty that Dean had finally admitted his feelings for Jo to him and not to the girl herself.

Dean bowed his head. Tears stung his bloodshot eyes yet he did nothing to wipe them away. He just didn't care any more.

"I'm sorry, Sam." Dean spoke finally. His voice was quieter and genuinely apologetic. "I shouldn't be- I shouldn't take this out on you." He sighed.

In true Dean fashion, the Winchester raised his right arm and ran his hand across his face, wiping away small beads of sweat and large teardrops. Finally, he looked up. Rather than looking at Sam however, his watery green eyes were drawn towards the window. Bobby's house was always dusty and cold but the kitchen window was now coated with a thin layer of ice. A telltale sign of the presence of a ghost. Written in the ice, was a single word: _Go_. He would know that handwriting anywhere.

Jo.

Dean watched with silent fascination as a thin line about the width of a fingertip appeared beneath the word. He couldn't see her but he knew she was there. He could feel it. For a moment, the Winchester was puzzled. He hadn't heard any movement upstairs and he certainly hadn't seen her come into the kitchen. It wasn't for a few seconds that he remembered she would not need to physically move in order to enter the kitchen. He resisted the urge to smile.

"It's okay dude. If you don't wanna go, we don't have to." Sam spoke. For no more than a second, Dean focused on his brother before his attention was drawn back to the frosted window. An exclamation mark joined Jo's previous markings and this time, Dean did smile. It lasted only a moment or so before he found himself confused.

Jo wanted him to go to Carthage? Why? Wouldn't she be stuck here, at Bobby's? She'd be alone if they went on this case and he did _not_ want to leave her alone. What if she was gone when he came back? Then again, she had said that wherever he and Sam had gone, she had followed. If that where the case, would she be pulled along to Carthage with them? It made sense. Did she realize that being forced to go to Carthage was now a possibility? If she did, why was she encouraging this trip? Dean would have thought she would want to avoid the place of her death at all costs.

Another exclamation mark.

"We'll go, Sammy." Dean spoke before his mind could comprehend the words leaving his mouth. He didn't know why he agreed but he knew that Jo wanted him to follow the case. If she wanted it, he would do it.

Suddenly, Dean realized that he had always obeyed Jo's orders. Right from the first moment they met. Well, actually, he had started following her orders after she punched him. Damn, that girl had a good right hook. She'd nearly blinded him. He smirked at the memory before another, less favorable thought occurred to him. Only once had he turned her down: Duluth. He preferred not to think about that day. He didn't like the way his mind would remind him of the helpless look in her eye as a possessed Sam taunted them both, a knife at Jo's throat with her hands tied firmly behind her. It was another memory he drank to forget.

"Seriously Dean, we don't have to go." Sam spoke. The elder Winchester lowered his eyes, catching his brother's. Sam's eyes were filled with concern but Dean could only smile at him reassuringly and give a slight shrug.

"I'll go pack a bag. Be ready, we leave in half an hour." He spoke. Before Sam could argue, Dean had already left the kitchen. With a heavy sigh and a confused look on his face, Sam listened to his brother's footsteps on the stairs.


	5. Full Beam

The door opened slowly, an almost painfully loud scratching sound filling the room. Looking over her shoulder, Jo watched as Dean closed the door quickly upon realizing she was in the room. A soft smile came across the blonde's lips at the action and she turned her attention back to the dust coated dresser that sat opposite the door, on the right hand side of the bed. Despite the thick layer of dust that had very nearly buried the dresser, Jo found herself attracted to it. There was nothing particularly interesting about the tall, wooden piece of furniture, she just liked the way it looked. On the top left corner of each drawer, someone had carved a very small yet very intricate Devil's Trap. Obviously done to protect the contents of the dresser. On the bottom right corner of each drawer, was a symbol Jo didn't recognize. Her finger traced the pattern as she began to puzzle herself with it's meaning. She wasn't confused for long.

"It's angel warding. Keeps 'em out your business." Dean spoke from across the room.

This time, Jo turned her entire body to face him. He was leaning back against the door, hands hidden deep within his pockets. He appeared to have sobered up a little more, making his eyes appear even more bloodshot. His hair was sticking up in various directions, an obvious clue that a brush had become a foreign object to him. And yet, he remained ruggedly handsome despite his stress.

"A Devil's Trap for angels?" She asked rhetorically, half turning her body towards the dresser, her eyes once again lowering to the symbol as her index finger traced the markings.

"Something like that." Dean answered. Jo made a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"How useful." She spoke. A faint smile came to her lips and she turned her eyes back to Dean.

The Winchester was now slumped against the door, head tilted back and fingers brushing through his hair and linking together. His eyes were closed tightly, his breathing slow and even. If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought he was asleep. Unfortunately, she did know better.

"Are you okay?" Jo asked.

Slowly, Dean opened his eyes, glancing around the room until meeting whiskey colored pools filled with concern. Mentally, the Winchester groaned. How could she expect him to lie and tell her everything was fine when she was looking at him like that? How could he lie when she looked so worried? It was almost as though she were afraid. _That's it,_ he decided. _She's afraid for me._ They both knew she was. They were both willing to admit it. Dean thought, she may even be more worried about him than Sam. Now that was something spectacular. No one worried about anything more than Sam but throw in Dean's mental health and Jo could take the crown with ease. He couldn't lie to a woman like that. Not when he felt for her the way he did.

"I'm fine." He spoke. It was an obvious lie and his voice broke slightly at the end. Jo narrowed her eyes at him and he gave a heavy sigh. Ellen Harvelle had been hard work. Lying to that woman was like trying to convince a vegetarian eating meat wasn't a capital offence. But Jo? Lying to her was as painful as having his most private -and important- body parts caught in a blender. He had never quite suffered that experience but on a case gone wrong, he had witnessed it. It was an experience he hoped never to have.

"You're lying." Jo spoke, her voice flat as she called him out.

"I know." He answered her.

"So tell me the truth." She pleaded.

"I don't know if I can." Dean answered honestly, his voice somewhat thicker.

For a moment, Jo could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes but just as quickly as she had noticed the slight shimmering, it was gone. Dean Winchester was not the kind of man you put on the spot when it came to emotional vulnerability. Expression was something he had little experience in. Jo often presumed that was the reason his emotions were generally so overwhelming.

"Please?" She asked. Dean sighed. His arms fell limp by his sides and he bowed his head in defeat. She thought then that she had won.

"Let me ask you something?" Dean spoke but his tone made her feel like he was asking her permission. Jo knew he was only trying to change the subject but when in his current state of complete anguish, she found she couldn't refuse him.

"Sure." She answered, a little unsurely.

Dean looked up slowly. Jo still had her eyes focused on him. The concern was still there only now, it was paired with acceptance. It was a combination of emotions Dean had only ever received twice. The first, he had admitted to Sam that he wasn't ready to die and that he didn't want to go to Hell. He was currently living the second time.

"Why do you want me to go to Carthage?" He asked quietly.

Jo found herself stunned. She certainly hadn't been expecting that question. Jo had never seen such a show of emotion from Dean as the one she was witnessing now. Although, it wasn't the first time this level of emotion had been directed at her.

Jo remembered their first hunt together well. Philadelphia. It had been a short two days but at the time, the minutes had felt like hours. Especially when she'd been locked away in that small box, buried deep beneath the ground in part of an old sewer system. Of course, they'd eventually found her. A slight smile came across her lips as she remembered the panic in Dean's voice as he called out for her; the strong sense of protectiveness surrounding him as he freed her. Overall, it had been a successful hunt. Dean had said so himself. Jo wondered then, if things had been different, if she hadn't gone on that hunt in Philadelphia, would she have ended up in Carthage? If she hadn't gone to Philadelphia and met up with the Winchester's, would she still be alive? She didn't know. What did know, is that she knew very little about her death. Jo wanted to know why she wasn't resting in peace up in Heaven or being slowly tortured down in Hell. She expected her fate would most likely be the latter seen as her death had been caused by Hellhounds. The bottom line remained: Jo wanted answers.

"It's a hunt." Jo spoke finally, looking up at Dean. "You've been sitting in Bobby's back room for almost a month now. You've been on two hunts and we both know you didn't really care about either of them. You'd rather not have been there in the first place. You need to get back out there. Now that you know I'm- " She trailed off. A slight frown came across her features as she fought to find the right words. "Well now that you know I'm still here. Kind of." She continued. A soft laugh escaped her lips as she attempted to lighten the quickly drowning mood. Dean's eyes remained questioning and his lips formed a thin line.

"Why do you want me to go?" He asked again. Jo rolled her eyes.

"I told you." She spoke, feigning exasperation.

"You lied. Why do you want me to go."

"I want you to go on a hunt."

"Why?"

"You need to."

"Why Carthage?"

"That has nothing to do with- "

"Yes it does."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does, Jo."

"No it doesn't Dean!" Jo snapped.

During their brief sparring session, Jo was unaware that Dean had moved. He now stood mere inches away from her, a confident smirk held on his lips that had her mind and body at war. While her mind told her that he was being an arrogant son of a bitch, her body felt warm all of a sudden with butterflies attacking her stomach and her lips twitching for want of a smile she wouldn't permit. She hated Dean Winchester and the way he affected her. And yet, she knew she'd do anything for him.

"What's wrong Jo? Pissed that for once, _I'm_ calling _you_ out?" He teased. She frowned.

"Don't be stupid Dean." She scolded him but it only proved to add to his ego, his smirk widening.

"I'm serious, Dean. I don't want to talk about it. You're going on this hunt and that's final." She spoke. His smirk faltered then, only it's ghost remaining.

"Why do you want me to go to Carthage, Jo?" He asked. His voice was quieter this time. All the teasing was gone from his tone and was now replaced with genuine interest. He was simply asking her a question. Parting her lips, the blonde geared herself up for another lie but found herself unable to speak the words.

Dean's eyes were filled with curiosity but there was something else there. Something she couldn't quite name. It wasn't quite concern but it was something close. His features remained quizzical and Jo found that she couldn't lie to him.

"I want answers." She answered him solemnly.

Dean raised a brow. What could she possibly want answers to? Almost immediately, he realized that was a stupid question. Jo had died less than a month ago and instead of waking up in Heaven, where she belonged, she was stuck with _him_. She had been forced to follow him and all his underlying depression for almost a month now. Surely she would want some answers. How did she get here? Why was she here? Why was she stuck with Dean Winchester of all people? A question he expected she would find rather important: Where was her mother?

"To what?" He asked, ignoring all previous thought.

"To everything." Jo answered innocently. He nodded understandingly, not asking her for any more than that. She gave him it any way.

"I want to know why I'm here? And if _I'm_ here, is my mother? If she's not, why me and _not_ her?" The blonde went on, listing a few of her questions. Her watery whiskey gaze raised to meet his and she gave him half a smile. Not quite that full beam he loved but something close. "Why am I stuck following your ass around?" She asked jokingly. They both laughed.

After a few seconds, silence settled between them. It was nothing like their previous silences. This time, the silence was comfortable. Warm and friendly. Something Jo missed. Something Dean hadn't felt in a long time. Stepping closer, the Winchester raised his right arm and using his middle and index fingers, brushed soft blonde waves back from a pale face. Lashes fluttered before lids concealed the whiskey colored orbs he had previously been studying. She relaxed under his touch and he smiled, both completely at ease in each other's presence. But the momentary happiness ebbed away as a harsh reality crossed Dean's mind.

"What if you can't come?" Dean voiced quietly. So quiet Jo almost didn't hear him. Sadly, she did.

"What d'you mean?" She asked, playing on ignorance. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes as Jo opened hers.

"What if you don't come with us...to Carthage?" He asked, hating himself for speaking the words aloud. He felt Jo shrug and opened his eyes to meet hers.

"I've gone everywhere with you and Sam. Whether I wanted to or not. Something is taking me wherever you go. Why would this time be any different?" She asked, surprisingly optimistic.

"Because the world hates us." Dean spoke casually, making Jo laugh. He was a little closer to seeing that full smile he loved.

"Yeah, it does." She agreed. They both smiled, letting the silence wash over them for a few seconds.

"I guess, we won't know if I'm with you or not until you leave." The blonde answered and Dean was surprised by the tone of her voice. She sounded to realistic. So mature.

When they had first met, flirting with Jo had been fun. He was young, she was young and that meant there was a lot of _fun_ to be had. Back then however, as much as it pained him to admit it, Jo would most likely have been nothing more than a fling. A girl he could stop by and visit every so often with the guarantee of sex. That was not to say that over the years, they could have become more but he imagined if they had started a relationship then, Jo would not have become the mature woman she was- he caught himself there. Jo would not have become the mature woman she had been. It was difficult to think of Jo as dead when she stood before him now. A smile graced his features. This Jo: the mature, fiery woman standing before him, he would have followed to the ends of the Earth. He still would. If it meant she'd give him a chance.

"You make an excellent point, Harvelle." He spoke, calling her by her surname. Jo kinked a brow and laughed. He had never done that before and for a moment, it seemed uncharacteristic. She realized then that Dean was in a strangely good mood and was now playing with her.

"I always do." She teased him back.

Using both hands, Dean cupped the small blonde's face. Meeting her eyes, he flashed her a wide, toothy grin that had her smiling up at him. At last, the full beam smile he'd missed. God, he'd missed that. With a smile like that, it was a wonder Jo had ever been single. She was beautiful. So much so that beautiful seemed too bland a word to describe her. For a moment, Dean was overcome with the urge to close the space between them. It was for that reason that he stepped back, releasing her.

"I should start packing. We're leaving in fifteen minutes" He spoke, glancing at his watch but keeping his smile so as not to lose the good feeling he had bestowed upon both Jo and himself. She simply nodded at him.

"I'll be in the car." She smiled, disappearing from his sight.

With a smile and a sigh, Dean ran a hand through his hair. Carthage. He still didn't want to go but for Jo? He knew he'd do anything.


	6. Lucky Fritz

They drove for four hours straight. It killed Dean to be on the road so long without knowing if she was there. He needed to know that she was with them and that she was okay. But he couldn't stop. With Sam being in the car, it was important that he remain calm and act normal. It simply would not do if Sam began to realize that Dean was mentally panicking about the possibility of the ghost of a woman he was still in love with coming back for good and whether or not she was currently sitting in their back seat.

Reaching out, the elder Winchester pressed eject. His eyes flicked to the car's stereo momentarily as he pulled the Metallica tape from it slot before replacing it with an old AC/DC tape that had been his father's. Sam often criticized Dean's musical preferences, claiming that he needed to move into the twenty-first century. Dean tended to ignore him. He was quite happy with his tape collection. *Jo hadn't minded.* He thought before he could stop himself. Rolling his eyes at his own thoughts, the Winchester let himself relax slightly as the first few notes of 'Shoot To Thrill' began to play.

"You sure you're okay with this?" Sam asked.

It had to be the seventeenth time he'd asked this question and every time, Dean gave the same answer - much to Sam's annoyance.

"I'm fine, Sammy. Don't worry about me." The elder Winchester replied, tossing his brother a quick look and giving him a smirk.

Dean could see the irritation in Sam's eyes. They both knew that going back to Carthage was a big step. A step Dean still wasn't sure he wanted to take. But Jo wanted this; needed it. She needed the closure. Although he doubted it would do her much good, he couldn't deny her this simple request, even if it hurt him.

"Whatever dude." Sam spoke, rolling his eyes before shifting in his seat lightly to face the landscape to his right. Country roads could be very appealing at times and the long journeys often gave him time to think.

Dean was acting strange. He was overly happy for someone who had spent the past month attempting to poison his liver. While Sam was suspicious of his brothers new, seemingly brighter outlook on life, he couldn't bring himself to speak out. To criticize Dean's apparent contentedness would only prove to push him back into a shell and Sam wasn't sure he could deal with that again. And so, instead of pointing out that Dean still had a smile held on his lips, he pointed out an upcoming gas station.

"We should probably stop." Sam spoke, pointing at the small station just a few yards away. "We've still got three hours before we hit Carthage and I'm starting to get hungry." The younger Winchester admitted, turning to face his brother.

Dean simply nodded and pulled into the gas station. Aligning his precious Impala with the pump, Dean exited the car, quickly followed by Sam.

"You go on in. Get me a bacon cheeseburger if they got 'em." Dean spoke. Sam nodded and started towards the store.

"And get some pie!" Dean called out suddenly, glancing over his shoulder as Sam waved him off.

As soon as he heard the ringing of the bell above the door, Dean almost pushed hise head through the back window, searching the empty seat. Straightening and yanking the door open, he leaned down again, scanning the still empty area. A feeling of dread settled in his stomach as he realized that Jo wasn't there. Panic began to set in. She hadn't come with them. She hadn't been able to leave Bobby's and would now be stuck there until they returned. This wasn't good. He couldn't do this without her! Before he could help himself, he was speaking her name.

"Jo?" He asked, voice shaky.

"Jo!" He repeated, tone panicked.

"Boo." A voice came from behind him.

The Winchester whirled, straightening as he did so and thumping his head on the car door. Raising a hand, he rubbed at his head and made an attempt to focus his vision. As the gray spots cleared, she came into view. Before him, stood Jo Harvelle, looking just as beautiful and dead as she had during her first appearance in Bobby's back room four hours ago.

"Not funny, Jo." Dean spoke but he couldn't hide his smile.

"What? I was trying the whole, 'Casper the Friendly Ghost' thing." She teased, using her fingers to imitate quotation marks.

Dean rolled his eyes. Astounding. Truly astounding. How a girl in Jo's position could be so at ease with being dead was surely unnatural in itself. Still, he supposed when you were dead, it was easier to focus on the happier and more amusing parts of life. Such as teasing a hunter about Casper the Friendly Ghost.

"You never fail to surprise me, y'know that?" He asked, shaking his head while she tossed him a careless grin.

"I'm glad you're here with us too, just so you know." The Winchester spoke rather shyly, finally dropping his hand from his still throbbing head.

"Me too." She smiled.

"I'll be honest," Dean spoke, shoving his hands in his pockets unceremoniously. "I didn't think this would work." He admitted.

"I knew it would work." Jo shrugged, giving a slight smile.

"Yeah but, why?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowing slightly so that he was squinting in the sunlight. It was strangely bright for November.

"Who knows?" Jo spoke, giving the male a slight smile. "Maybe it's magic." She teased.

Dean shivered. "God, I hope not." He spoke, adjusting his jacket and eyeing the store briefly. "I hate witches." He clarified.

Jo simply laughed. Being a hunter, Jo had always thought that Dean Winchester was fearless. He seemed as such. With a general hatred for all things supernatural and a kick ass attitude, it was difficult to think of Dean Winchester worrying about something as trivial as witches. The thought made her smile.

"To many unuseful body parts, huh?" The blonde teased, giving the Winchester a wink as he rolled his eyes at her taunting tone.

"Shut it, Jo. Or I'll stick you down the hole with ol' H. H. Holmes again." He teased right back.

Jo shivered involuntarily, the action causing her ghostly body to shimmer slightly. This seemed to catch Dean's attention as his eyes snapped up to hers immediately.

"What did you just do?" He asked, eyes wide with shock and mild fear.

"Nothing, why?" Jo asked in response, a brow kinking curiously at his slightly panicked expression.

"When you shivered, your whole body kind of...well, fritzed or something." He spoke, frowning softly.

"Fritzed?" She asked, crossing her arms and looking at him as if he were a child with an imaginary friend.

"Yes, fritzed! You know, that thing ghosts do where they disappear and reappear on the same spot like eight times in a row within point five seconds. You know what I mean?!" He explained.

Jo did understand what he meant. She had often seen the action. She was unsure as to whether or not there was a technical term for the action but she assumed 'fritzed' was as good as any. Only now, she was worried. Almost as worried as Dean. If she was 'fritzing', it could not be good. Ghosts only ever had this reaction when they had been attacked by salt or iron. _And when they're weak_ Her conscience reminded her. Well crap!

"You feeling okay?" Dean asked. Jo nodded but he only gave her look she knew all to well. It was the same look she gave him when she knew he was lying.

"I guess I have been feeling a little dizzy lately. I think it's because I'm new at this whole, 'focusing on being visible' thing." She explained, shrugging. "I've never had to do it before. I mean, it takes a lot of concentration to stay awake let alone to stay tangible." The blonde admitted.

Dean nodded. He could understand that. Kind of. He remembered briefly from his time as a ghost that it took a great deal of focus to remain within the spirit world let along to actually acomplish Jo's current achievements. Therefore, he understood how tired she must feel. It was perhaps best if she disappeared and rested for a little while.

"There's still another three hours until we get to Carthage." Dean spoke, having to force himself to spit out the name of the town. "Maybe you should, I dunno, black out for the rest of journey. Gather up your strength a little." He suggested.

Jo nodded and Dean felt a strange surge of guilt upon witnessing the tired smile she gave him. She was weak. After revealing herself to him, all the emotion she must have felt, especially when they were arguing; it must have taken a lot out of her.

"I like that idea." The blonde smiled softly, suddenly feeling rather faint. She began to feel as if she were forcing herself to remain standing in front of Dean. It almost felt like she couldn't breathe. A ridiculous idea considering she was dead.

"Get in the car." Dean spoke, nodding his head towards the still open door that would permit Jo entrance to the Impala's back seat. He felt a new surge. This time, of happiness as he watched her climb into the Impala in a manner that mirrored the actions she had demonstrated once before. Jo had only ever been in the Impala once before. Philadelphia. When her mother had come to collect her, Dean had felt guilty and very afraid for her as he watched her climb into the back seat defeatedly. While her actions now mirrored her actions then, Dean knew that this defeat was entirely different. This time, she wasn't giving up or feeling guilty. This time, she was letting him win because she genuinely agreed with him and could find no fault with his suggestion. It made him proud to think that he could persuade Jo Harvelle to agree with him.

Once she was nestled calmly in the back seat, Dean swung the door shut and made his way back to the driver's door. At that precise moment, a bell rung surprisingly loudly and Dean looked up to see Sam emerging from the store, a large food bag in his hand.

Waiting for his brother, both Winchester's entered the car in perfect synchronization. Sam handed Dean his ridiculously large burger and set the bag filled with random, unhealthy snacks on the floor.

"Off to Carthage we go." Sam spoke, raising a can of coke as if he were toasting.

Dean nodded and glanced in the car's mirror.

"Off to Carthage we go." He repeated as he checked the back seat for Jo's sleeping form. He was slightly saddened to find the seat empty.


End file.
